Magic Sucks
by The Assassin's Pen
Summary: Stephen belatedly finds out there are physical consequences for the mystic arts. Christine, of course, has to deal with him. Wong and the cloak make an effort as well. It takes a village to deal with a young and flighty new sorcerer. Christine x Stephen friendly.


So I discovered that, at least in the 2015 comic, Stephen gets violently ill when he overdoes it with magic.

* * *

"Christine," he moaned, clutching her waist. "This is terrible."

Christine looked at the heavens for help and found about as much as she usually did when trying to deal with Stephen Vincent Drama Queen Strange. Though, to be fair, he had been vomiting up glowing who knows what for the past hour so she thought this time, he might have a tiny right to be dramatic.

She was sitting on the bathroom floor with him rubbing his back as he hugged her around the waist and lay with his head on her thigh. His body was sprawled across the cool tile, and his cloak was sitting in a concerned heap next to her, lifting its collar as though it had a head and could cock it to show sympathy. She eyed it and stroked his hair and tried to understand what she'd done to get herself into such a bizarre situation.

 _You live in New York and you can't seem to shake caring about Stephen Strange_.

"The Ancient One never warned me about this," he said pitifully. "Nobody warned me about this, but according to Wong it's completely normal. Why did no one warn me about this?"

"About magical consequences? Stephen, did you really think channeling otherworldly energy through your very human body wasn't going to short a few things out?"

"Exhaustion. I expected exhaustion and maybe a headache. A-" he waved a hand in the air before dropping it back and hugging her waist again. "Sexy nosebleed. Or something."

She chuckled a little at that. "Sexy nosebleed, huh? So what you're really upset about is that this is so very undignified that you can't maintain your new sorcerer image on the bathroom floor."

"You try puking up a gallon of glow sticks and see how sexy you feel," he said into her leg.

She nodded to herself and sighed, her brow twisting in sympathy as she felt Stephen's muscles tense up again. He groaned and she pulled at him.

"Okay, come on, I do love you but not enough to let you puke on me when you know it's coming," she said, helping him up so he could heave into the toilet again. At least this time it wasn't glowing. Her brow furrowed. Was that...glitter? She reached up and pulled the flush before she could think about it.

"You love me?" he asked, leaning his head against the toilet for a moment before slumping back down into her lap. He curled onto his side and shivered, and she squeezed her eyes shut, wincing. Why did she have to say that?

"You know what I mean," she murmured, stroking his hair before resting a hand comfortingly against his side. What was she saying? _She_ didn't know what she meant. She expected some kind of effort at a witty comment back, but Stephen was silent. When she bent over to look at his face it was slack. He'd passed out in her lap, probably from sheer exhaustion. The cloak lifted its edge as she tucked her fingers under his soft collar to get at his pulse, and she glanced at it as she counted.

"He's going to be alright, as long as he stops puking up stuff that should not be in this dimension, let alone a human stomach," she assured. She sighed and stroked his cheek with her thumb. "What have you done to yourself, Stephen? Not to mention me..." She watched him sleep for a moment longer and tried not to get distracted by how cute he looked.

He may have been a colossal jerk, but he was always far too attractive for his own good. She thought about getting up and trying to get him into a bed, but he was too heavy and he seemed content to lay in her lap on the floor for the moment. Besides, she wasn't sure he was actually done throwing up and she didn't want to add laundry to the list of things she was doing for him that day. She lay a hand against his forehead and then his neck, trying to decide if he felt too warm. The cloak slithered a little closer and she watched it, still finding it unnerving even if its behavior seemed friendly and even endearingly protective.

"Uh, if I ask you to go get me something, will you know what I'm saying?"

The cloak raised a little further off the floor, as though eager to help.

She blew out a breath through her lips. "Okay. Um. Asprin, toast, and water. Please."

The cloak whisked out. A few minutes later she heard struggling and she looked up, brow furrowed as she tried to see out of the bathroom without dislodging Stephen. Someone was cursing. It was not in English. A moment later the cloak came back into view dragging Wong.

Christine had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Not what I meant but I guess that works."

The cloak finally let Wong go and he stood there looking flustered, glancing from Christine to Stephen and back to the cloak.

"Sorry, I can't move because he has me pinned so I tried asking the cloak to get me a few things—I had no idea it would kidnap you instead."

Wong glared at the cloak and the it turned away, looking for all the world like someone pointedly ignoring with their arms crossed. He gave a long suffering sigh and came into the bathroom, crouching down and resting his hand on Stephen's shoulder. He thumbed open one of Stephen's eyelids and then checked his pulse.

"He's coming out of it, only a few more hours and it'll be over. The vomiting at least should be finished. Hopefully this will teach him not to do something so drastic in future."

"It won't," Christine said flatly, though not without a hint of affection. Stephen didn't do half way. He never had.

"What did you want for him?"

"He's developing a fever, so I was going to give him water and toast to settle his stomach and some asprin to bring it down."

Wong shook his head. "The fever is the fastest and the kindest way for his body to return to normal. Let it burn itself out. Anything in his stomach besides water right now will not remain, and could make him sicker."

"Okay, guess I need to take a new course in magical medicine. If this is going to be a regular occurrence I have a lot to learn."

They both knew it was going to be a regular occurrence.

"I will help you get him on the bed. The water will be there for when he wakes up."

She nodded to him gratefully, and together (with the cloak's help) they managed to get Stephen into bed with minimal jostling.

She sat next to the bed and leaned against it, her cheek resting on her fist. "You know, at least this time he isn't hovering over me telling me how to do my job."

Wong didn't comment, but she thought she saw the barest flicker of a smile as he set the water on the table.

When Wong left them in peace Christine took a moment to study him. He'd changed so much at heart she felt like she needed to look at him with new eyes. There was more gray at his temples, and she tucked it behind his ear, tracing the shell in a way she'd discovered would either soothe him or turn him on, depending on how she did it. The facial hair was new, and even though she normally didn't care for men who weren't clean shaven it worked on him. It was actually quite flattering.

She looked down at the hand he had resting on his chest and dared to pick it up. She ran her fingers gently along the scars, her brow furrowed in sympathy. She knew it still hurt sometimes. Entire parts of his hands were now overly sensitive, other parts couldn't sense at all. She could feel the scarring as deep as the tendons they'd reattached and she rubbed her thumb gently across his knuckles before kissing them and resting his hand back against the covers.

The dark eyelashes against skin too pale from exertion, the way his breathing was deep and heavy because he hadn't slept properly in too long. She'd seen him exhausted before after endless surgeries, but this was different. He was bruised, he was sick, all because he gave everything he had when nobody else could see. This was a bone weary exhaustion from serving someone else—something she thought she'd never witness from him. He was miserable and that made her sad, but at the same time she was so, _so_ proud of him. He may not have realized it but he'd always worked better with an audience. After a while he used to refuse to work in operating theaters that didn't have an observation window. Oh how things had changed.

"Heart of gold and some of the most beautiful bone structure I have ever had the misfortune to run my fingers across," she mumbled, brushing his cheekbone. "How am I supposed to stay away from you now, Stephen?"

She'd always known he had a good heart deep down, of course. It was why she'd stuck by him for so long. She simply did not believe in lost causes. After his outburst though, she'd wondered if he'd ever truly listen to it.

She rest her hand on his chest, getting up and bending to kiss his forehead. It would be a long path for him, she could tell, but she was ready to walk it with him.


End file.
